Oh, this was annoying! Days had gone by . . . days! . . . without so much as a squeak out of that pirate. Except that squeaking wasn't exactly piratical. This one just snored. Loudly.
In fact, the man's condition greatly resembled a bad case of jet lag. Time travel was reputed to produce whopper cases of it, far worse than the 3-hour time difference between coasts of the United States. She had never experienced it herself, since the 'donk was shielded. (It turned out the light coating of rust on its exterior surfaces was just the ticket!) She wondered what Cap'n Radley travelled in. A pirate ship seemed an unlikely vehicle for the task.
Who would have thought she'd lose that cap, too! She had been sure the wash boy had it--early on, he'd developed what she felt was an unhealthy fascination for it. It was all she could do to keep him from washing and starching it daily.
Now it was gone. A thorough search--not to mention a thorough interrogation of the wash boy--had proven it was not in the 'donk. It wasn't outside it, either. The only trace of it--if, in fact, that's what it was--had been a neat semicircular imprint in the sand near where she had rescued the captain.
There was nothing worse than leaving a trail of breadcrumbs--or nurse's caps--to mark your whereabouts, she mused. It just underlined the importance of waking that lout up. Every minute that passed was another minute her unknown nemesis had to find Radley Firecrotch.
She knew he was out there;she could feel it in her very fleece. Someone else was hunting the captain.
Arrrrr!!!
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djm
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Not fully understanding it, I had allowed my instincts to lead me into further searching out these student nursing facilities that had caught my eye in the Yellow Pages. What on earth could a clean, respectable neighbourhood like this have to do with something as base and evil as a pirate, and especially as evil a pirate as ol' Boo Radley Firecrotch?
It was getting late in the evening. The air finally began to cool off. A faint hint of a breeze just barely managed to stir the leaves. I had decided to stake out the nurses' residence to get a better idea of what might be normal activity in this area. In the bushes to my right, a mockingbird made a soft, sleepy little trill that seemed to float and hang on the still air.
A soft thump. The initial sound was so dull and quiet that I had to check myself to make sure I hadn't imagined it. A moment later there was a rustling in the bushes again to my right, and out from them emerged a young laundry boy, his clean white uniform nearly fluorescing in the still, dark night. He moved swiftly and silently towards a basement door into the nurses' residence. In the deep shadows beside the building, I could just barely make out the silhoutte of a badonkadonk.
I quickly moved to the spot he had so recently vacated. A moment's search along the ground beneath the bushes revealed something that took me by surprise. I certainly hadn't expected anything like this. At my feet lay the mockingbird, whose clear note had so recently touched my heart, and beside its' still body, a nurse's cap, with strange looking stains upon it.
djm
It's difficult being an artist under these conditions.
It was getting late in the evening. The air finally began to cool off. A faint hint of a breeze just barely managed to stir the leaves. I had decided to stake out the nurses' residence to get a better idea of what might be normal activity in this area. In the bushes to my right, a mockingbird made a soft, sleepy little trill that seemed to float and hang on the still air.
A soft thump. The initial sound was so dull and quiet that I had to check myself to make sure I hadn't imagined it. A moment later there was a rustling in the bushes again to my right, and out from them emerged a young laundry boy, his clean white uniform nearly fluorescing in the still, dark night. He moved swiftly and silently towards a basement door into the nurses' residence. In the deep shadows beside the building, I could just barely make out the silhoutte of a badonkadonk.
I quickly moved to the spot he had so recently vacated. A moment's search along the ground beneath the bushes revealed something that took me by surprise. I certainly hadn't expected anything like this. At my feet lay the mockingbird, whose clear note had so recently touched my heart, and beside its' still body, a nurse's cap, with strange looking stains upon it.
djm
It's difficult being an artist under these conditions.
Last edited by djm on Sun Oct 07, 2007 8:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I'd rather be atop the foothills than beneath them.
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gonzo914
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Cap’n Firecrotch knew he should be heading back to his ship, the Ruptured Duck, in Port Royal. He knew he should be doing that instead of walking along the beach with Nurse Cupcake, acting like some git in a Rod McKuen poem. He knew he needed to resume his search for Morgan’s treasure. He had, after all, paid a dear penny for that map, actually, a large sack of dear pennies. And he knew he had to get moving before anyone suspected he was here, wherever ‘here’ really was, for that is bit of information about which Nurse Cupcake had not been forthcoming.
“I need to get to Port Royal,” he said to Nurse Cupcake.
“Whatever for, Captain?” she asked, showing what Firecrotch though to be inordinate interest. But he let it go.
“Arr, I need to get to me ship, the Ruptured Duck,” he answered.
“Your ship?” Cupcake enthused. “Port Royal?” she continued. “I’m afraid that will be difficult.”
“An’ why be that, dear lady?” the cap’n asked.
“Well, for one thing, we’re just east of Montego Bay, which is all the way across the island from Port Royal. And for another, I could try to get you there, but I don’t know if the ‘donk can handle the jungle or the salty sea air.”
Cap’n Firecrotch was about to ask her what the hell a donk was when their walk was interrupted by a turtle sailing through the air over their heads.
“Is that a flying turtle?” asked Nurse Cupcake as the turtle described a brief but desparate arc overhead and smashed itself into a bloody pulp on the rocks just ahead of them.
“It don’t be flying’ no more,” observed the Cap’n as the turtles innards oozed out onto the rocks. “There be only one man who does things like that,” he said, and he turned toward the jungle at the edge of the beach, where a solitary man was legging it for the bushes.
“Stinkin’ Harry Dawkins,” yelled the enraged pirate, “I warned ye about that kind o’ thing, y’ scurvy basmati. That by god’ll be the last turtle ya tosses.”
He drew his perfectly balanced and very lethal looking Soligen rapier from its scabbard and headed off in pursuit of the retreating turtle chucker. The turtle-slaughtering miscreant dove into the jungle, Firecrotch hot on his hindside.
“Oh, my,” said Nurse Cupcake, trying unsuccessfully to administer first aid to the dying turtle. The sounds of a struggle emanated from the jungle, and then there was silence.
After an appropriately suspenseful passage of time, Cap’n Firecrotch emerged from the jungle. He bore a nasty cutlass slash on his right arm, and he stanched the blood flow with the starched linen kerchief Nurse Cupcake had insisted he start carrying in his coat pocket. (As she put it, “My dear Radley, that is simply what gentlemen do.”)
The Solingen was dark along its full length and dripped a viscous red fluid onto the sand.
“It be bad luck t’ kill a turtle,” the Cap’n finally said. “He said he wouldn’t be doin’ it no more, and y’ know what? He won’t.”
Nurse Cupcake turned her ministrations from the now ex-turtle to the Cap’n’s injury. “You poor dear,” she said, “Let’s get that cleaned up and bandaged.”
“And as soon as yer done, we got to get movin’ to Port Royal,” the Cap’n said, then he added, “And what the hell is a donk?”
“I need to get to Port Royal,” he said to Nurse Cupcake.
“Whatever for, Captain?” she asked, showing what Firecrotch though to be inordinate interest. But he let it go.
“Arr, I need to get to me ship, the Ruptured Duck,” he answered.
“Your ship?” Cupcake enthused. “Port Royal?” she continued. “I’m afraid that will be difficult.”
“An’ why be that, dear lady?” the cap’n asked.
“Well, for one thing, we’re just east of Montego Bay, which is all the way across the island from Port Royal. And for another, I could try to get you there, but I don’t know if the ‘donk can handle the jungle or the salty sea air.”
Cap’n Firecrotch was about to ask her what the hell a donk was when their walk was interrupted by a turtle sailing through the air over their heads.
“Is that a flying turtle?” asked Nurse Cupcake as the turtle described a brief but desparate arc overhead and smashed itself into a bloody pulp on the rocks just ahead of them.
“It don’t be flying’ no more,” observed the Cap’n as the turtles innards oozed out onto the rocks. “There be only one man who does things like that,” he said, and he turned toward the jungle at the edge of the beach, where a solitary man was legging it for the bushes.
“Stinkin’ Harry Dawkins,” yelled the enraged pirate, “I warned ye about that kind o’ thing, y’ scurvy basmati. That by god’ll be the last turtle ya tosses.”
He drew his perfectly balanced and very lethal looking Soligen rapier from its scabbard and headed off in pursuit of the retreating turtle chucker. The turtle-slaughtering miscreant dove into the jungle, Firecrotch hot on his hindside.
“Oh, my,” said Nurse Cupcake, trying unsuccessfully to administer first aid to the dying turtle. The sounds of a struggle emanated from the jungle, and then there was silence.
After an appropriately suspenseful passage of time, Cap’n Firecrotch emerged from the jungle. He bore a nasty cutlass slash on his right arm, and he stanched the blood flow with the starched linen kerchief Nurse Cupcake had insisted he start carrying in his coat pocket. (As she put it, “My dear Radley, that is simply what gentlemen do.”)
The Solingen was dark along its full length and dripped a viscous red fluid onto the sand.
“It be bad luck t’ kill a turtle,” the Cap’n finally said. “He said he wouldn’t be doin’ it no more, and y’ know what? He won’t.”
Nurse Cupcake turned her ministrations from the now ex-turtle to the Cap’n’s injury. “You poor dear,” she said, “Let’s get that cleaned up and bandaged.”
“And as soon as yer done, we got to get movin’ to Port Royal,” the Cap’n said, then he added, “And what the hell is a donk?”
Last edited by gonzo914 on Tue Oct 09, 2007 6:59 am, edited 2 times in total.
Crazy for the blue white and red
Crazy for the blue white and red
And yellow fringe
Crazy for the blue white red and yellow
Crazy for the blue white and red
And yellow fringe
Crazy for the blue white red and yellow
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Cynth
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Mam's leg was turning green by now. Pa was trying to get some whiskey down her gullet but she was a chokin' and screaming and he drank most of it and that's true cause I watched him do it. He was fixin' to take the leg off with his old rusty saw when Jamie got back but then he couldn't find it---he slapped me good when I reminded him he sold it last week for likker money. Things was not going so good at our place. Then Jamie comes in crying that one o' the lambs was missing. Pa like to throw'd him crosst the room but Jamie he's gotten right quick. Pa told Jamie to start looking in the jungle and he told me to hunt down the rocks to the beach. Mam started screaming again, sayin' I was too little and I'd be kilt, not that he would care. He said we couldn't do without that lamb and mam's leg'd have to wait till we found it. Truth to tell, I was like to going crazy myself in there. I love mam more'n anything but if she's right about there bein' a better world up yonder, mebbe she ought ter just head that way. I'd join her if I could, I do swear. Well, I was climbing down the rocks and they ain't that bad. The ocean smelt clean and I was at least away from the screamin'. I heard some rustling and I thought sure nuff it's that lamb. I didn't want to sceer it and make it run off so I was peeking around sort of sly like. Well, I saw that lamb and she was nursing some kind o' big rough man! Putting bandages on him, and him with a big sword and all. She were wearing human clothes but I know a lamb when I see one. I reckoned mebbe this was mam's only chance could I get this lamb to come up and take her leg off with that big man's sword that looked a sight cleaner than pa's saw if he still had it which he didn't. I ran home. I never run so fast in my life. I hollered for pa and said I found the lamb and he hollered back where was it then? I told him she was on the beach dressed like a lady tending a big soldier but that maybe she could come and help ma. He whupped me good and sent me to bed without even my bread. Ma screamed all night, and went to the better place over yonder in the morning. Jamie never did come home. Pa never looked for him neither. We buried mam but he got no preacher to come, none would have even had he asked. All he talks about is where did that lamb get to. I hope he don't go lookin' fer her because he's gone clean out of his mind. We ain't et a thing but corn and dried peas fer months now and he's liable to say she's too much trouble to raise between us two since mam and Jamie aren't no more and I fear what might happen if'n he gets a hold o' that big old sword I saw down there.
Diligentia maximum etiam mediocris ingeni subsidium. ~ Diligence is a very great help even to a mediocre intelligence.----Seneca
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gonzo914
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Quite possibly the best opening sentence in all English literature, this certainly ranks up there with "This was the winter of our discontent," and "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times," and better than "Call me Ishmael."Cynth wrote:Mam's leg was turning green by now.
Crazy for the blue white and red
Crazy for the blue white and red
And yellow fringe
Crazy for the blue white red and yellow
Crazy for the blue white and red
And yellow fringe
Crazy for the blue white red and yellow
Oh dear. I can't imagine what got into me. I think if you get aways down the beach Pa will be too drunk to spot Lamby.